


Luna at Midnight

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Decadence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franz wanders through Carnival on Luna at midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luna at Midnight

Franz watches Albert disappear in to the crowd down the street. Even this late at night the streets of Luna are thronging with partygoers. Franz can't help his frustrated sigh. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned gambling, but he'd tried to warn Albert about the Count, not that the other boy would listen. The sun has barely set, there are several more hours before the ball. Franz would rather have been exploring the wonders of Luna with Albert. Now he's alone, a party invitation he only accepted because Albert wanted to go crumpled in his pocket. He doesn't need four hours to prepare for a ball he doesn't want to go to. No sense in going back to the hotel when Albert certainly wont be there. 

Franz walks in the opposite direction, away from Albert. The other boy will probably run into another band of carolers, or a street float where the buxom women in little more than their pasties, thongs, and sequined, feathered headdresses will scare him blushingly back to the hotel room. Then he'll come to his senses and remember _he_ wanted to go to the ball, not Franz. They'll meet there and Franz wont spend the rest of his night alone, avoiding high society ladies and their romance ploys. 

Franz picks streets at random. He could look at his holomap, but he doesn't see the point when he's wandering. The streets provide an entertainment all of their own. There are people covered head to toe in sparkling diamond dresses, women with jewels tangled into their hair. Bright fabrics like macaws or tropical fish float gauzy around the shoulders of young men drinking in the light of an open doorway. A troupe of revelers Albert's father's age stagger with drunken laughter down the middle of the street. Even in their nakedness the crowd barely parts to give them birth. Instead a group of women who seem dressed as children's dolls with frilly dresses and flower covered hats buzz about them like bees, catching the men by the shoulder for a passing kiss. Franz realizes that he has, somehow stumbled into the Red Light district. Baring skin isn't uncommon on Luna, glitter seeming to be the preferred covering for bodies old and young, but generally they do pass with the barest acceptable propriety. Stopping on the following street corner Franz looks around. The traffic is all pedestrian, no floats or cars of any sort in sight. The noise is outrageous, a brass band blares from somewhere in the crowd, almost drowned out by the pealing of what might be feminine laughter, or perhaps squeals of a less dignified sort. Instead of cars, the intersection barely allows for through traffic of the walking sort. Those with a place to be seem to circle around the writhing dance of people. Some of them are certainly moving to the music, feet and arms in pace with the raucous beat of drums. Others seem to be keeping a rhythm all their own, or perhaps dancing to another strain of music Franz can't hear from this corner. 

As he watches, a group of drummers rounds the edge of the crowd towards him. They march three women abreast, their belled feet keeping time and their hands pounding intricate rhythms to the drums slung round each of their necks. Their hair is braided full of night-blooming flowers and their unfettered breasts seem to move in a dance perfectly timed with the drumbeats. Franz attempts to avert his eyes but one of the women cat calls to him.  
"Aye, you're over dressed! Take a little off and enjoy yourself," she rolls her hips suggestively against the drum. Franz bows politely and turns to the side, walking quickly around the circle. He considers consulting his map but he doesn't really want to stop here, in the middle of this street. 

Fingers reach out from the crowd as he passes, snag at the tails of his jacket. When a particularly persistant hand won't be flung off Franz slips the jacket from his shoulders and presses on through the edge of the crowd. The lights aren't actually red in this quarter, but with the press of people the intersection isn't well lit. It's hard to see faces, or forms, clearly now. Franz tries to stay on the edges, maintaining his direction towards the far side without being swept into the crowd. Finally his feet stumble up onto the edge of the sidewalk and he breaks free into the thinning flock of people. They titter at him as he staggers to lean against the solid brick wall of a nearby building. Catching his breath, Franz looks back. The mass of people in the street seems to have tripled. Here and there couples with candles stand, faces close together, bodies curving towards each other. A young woman with shockingly pink hair that matches the tight slink of her dress hisses when the wax falls on her hand. Her boyish partner rights the carelessly tilted candle as she tugs him towards the crowd. They pass Franz in a haze of rich perfume. It must be close to midnight then. The ball starts when the bell tolls. Franz is going to be late. He doesn't really care, the hotel isn't all that far from the redlight district. He should be able to walk there in minutes, he can call a coach whenever he likes. He doesn't have to be there if he doesn't want to. 

Franz tries not to think of Albert, walking to the hotel, alone amidst couples secreting off to darkened doorways, or cuddling close in the streetlight, awaiting their midnight kiss. Or perhaps some lucky girl has found him, a demure thing in a conservative dress with a pretty face made up just so. She'd have a hat at a jaunty angle and white gloved fingers. She'd take Albert's hand at midnight with her sweetest smile and- Franz shakes his head to dispell the vision.  
"You waiting for someone?" calls a clear tenor voice from somewhere over Franz's head. It's few shades to low to be female, just slightly higher than his own voice. The quality is similar to Albert's but without the other boys frustrated nasal twang. Franz cranes his head back to look up. Above him is a wrought iron balcony, the street light picks out the edges of metalwork like twisting vines. Leaning over the railing is sandy-haired boy almost Franz's age. There's glitter dusted across his eyelids. The streetlight catches on the white gleam of his smile and something metallic in his hair, maybe a string of beads.  
"Not particularly." Franz calls back. He's not quite sure why he's responding, but there's something about the boys eyes, the way he's watching the crowd, but above all of it, some how.  
"It's almost midnight." The teasing cadence of his voice is musical, a sweet counterpoint to the rising speed of the drums from the street. Franz turns toward the building, away from the crowd, to get a better look. The boy has long, thin arms. He's shirtless, but a white lace shawl that somehow looks almost like feathers is draped over his shoulders. Franz is reminded of an angel. He can't see the boys legs from this angle so the apparition of him floats, pale and sparkling six feet over Franz's head.  
"I know." Franz responds with a shrug.  
"You don't have a candle." The boy points out, helpfully.  
"I don't have a sweetheart." Franz tries to keep the slight bitterness out of his voice, doesn't think of Albert and his faceless carnival girl.  
"Well..." The boy taps his lips thoughtfully, the expression breaks into an attractive grin. He brings a long white taper up, held firmly between two fingers, "I have one." With the other hand he flicks a lighter and a small purple flame hovers for a moment before catching. The boys timing is impeccable. He flips the lighter shut with a snick, leaving only the light of the candle as all the street lights sputter out in the same instant. 

The silence that falls in the moments before all the clocks chime midnight is unpierced. Even the revelers in the street seem to hold absolutely still for that moment. A thousand candleflames waver, flickering their light, rainbows of orange and pink, red, and blue, and green, a hundred partygoing fireflies across the city. The first toll of the bell shakes the stillness and a wave of candleflames die, their holders to busy with eachother's mouths to care for the fragile light. Franz watches as the light above him wavers. He can't see the boy, the light isn't strong enough, but he watches the spark dance to the far side of the balcony, then slowly start to descend. The third bell tolls, as Franz realizes that there must be stairs down from the balcony to the street. He edges along the wall, hands scrapping the gritty brick, towards where the light is. The fire escape is unfurled. The stairs end, hovering four feet off the ground. By now, theirs is the only light still shining in the street. Franz is glad, for it illuminates the boys smiling face when he leans down. He catches Franz's chin with his palm. He doesn't have to coax to turn Franz's face to his. His lips are soft, warm and pliable. Franz is focused enough on the kiss that he isn't startled by the sudden darkness. He reaches out, blindly, and wraps his hand round the other boys against the candle. The wax is still hot but he doesn't care. The boy tangles their fingers together, deepens the kiss with a swipe of his tongue against Franz's mouth. He tastes like desert wine, or perhaps chocolate cordials, the sweet, chocolately liqueur that Franz is sure he's had at one of the gala's they've been to already this trip.

The last bell of midnight tolls over the rustling and murmurs of the darkened street. The boys lips pull away from his, sticky and sweet.  
Franz barely catches his murmured "Thank you." The puff of his breath is hot against Franz's cheek. Franz leans upwards after him, but he's unable to catch more than a glimpse of the boys arched foot on the last step as the first of the midnight fireworks erupt across the sky. The blue-green glow lights up the street, the mass of people, now mostly laying on the ground in a carpet of curving limbs under the flickering light. The boom that follows is louder than the bells and met with screams of laughter and howls like dogs on the hunt. Franz steps back into the street, trying to see further onto the empty balcony, but the door behind is black, a white curtain blowing gently in the empty space. Franz turns away up the street, away from the crowd, away from the district and back towards the hotel. He doesn't realize until he's four blocks away, only two from his destination, that he's still holding the burnt out candle. Franz considers shaking it from his hand, absentminded, idiotic, but he doesn't. Instead he runs his fingers over the smeared wax on the elevator ride up to his room. He wraps it carefully in his cravat and tucks it in his suitcase in the, immaculate, empty room. The beds were made by housekeeping. If not for the suitcase neatly in a corner no one could tell Albert was here too. Franz might as well be alone. 

Franz takes care not to disturb the candle, but throws his clothes carelessly on the bed, stripping with efficiency and not bothering with the curtain. He doesn't have to impress anyone tonight so he finds a suit he's already worn and tucks the new cravat around his neck. By the time he's done, Albert still hasn't returned and he's an hour late for the ball. Franz summons his coach and leaves.


End file.
